Deals
by IReadAndWriteSometimes
Summary: A birthday present for my partner in crime, escapewithstories.


For a good month now, I've been scrambling for a simple fluffy story about nothing that I could post for _escapewithstories_ ' birthday. At long last, inspiration struck me the other day (Phew! *wipes sweat off brow*), and I got this done just in time to spring it on her on the big day!

I've played a bit with the style, sticking to the present tense for the most part instead of the usual past, so that might be a little odd, but the remaining random fluffiness that verges on silliness should still feel familiar.

If you find the story riddled with more mistakes than usual, I do apologize. Since this is a surprise for my beta, she wasn't able to look it over like she usually does.

 _escapewithstories_ , I wish you the happiest of birthdays! This past year of having you as my partner in crime, and friend, has been a blast, and I hope that, as you steadily approach old age, the creepiness of our shared brain won't suffer in the next!

This one is for you.

* * *

DEALS

"You're staring," Sharon mumbles, her eyes remaining tightly shut as she attempts to prolong her sleepy bliss for a few more moments.

"I'm enjoying the view," Andy counters, the lack of sleepiness in his voice indicating he had been doing so for a while now.

That prompts her eyes open only to roll them. If anyone had told her five years ago how utterly cliche her husband to be was, she'd have snorted right in their faces. That was not to say she did not always, without fail, fall for it. There was no way to help it, not when every sappy thing that ever fell from his mouth was meant with a conviction some might argue was delirious.

She startles when he sneaks up on her, his voice suddenly much closer to her ear, and he admonishes in a low muttered rumble. "Don't you roll your eyes at me."

"Or," she turns onto her back, deliberately shoving him away with her shoulder, "what?"

"Or," he starts cockily, but then the sound deteriorates into a distracted "Uhh," when he takes in her appearance, remnants of sleep keeping her features softer than usual, her sleep tousled hair framing her face sprawled on the pillow, and her eyes glittering at him in mischievous challenge. His train of thought forgotten, he dips his head, and kisses her instead.

When he pulls back, she grins. "I should roll my eyes at you more often."

He props his head up on an elbow, shrugging his free shoulder. "I'll keep kissing you regardless."

She very nearly rolls her eyes again. He is downright cheesy, but amusement wins out and she laughs instead, turning onto to her own side to kiss him again.

Her enthusiasm has him fall over onto his back and clasp her cheeks to respond. When she relaxes into the kiss, and with it part of her weight settles against his body, he moans at the welcome contact, and the sound has Sharon release his lips, an inquisitive look on her face.

"So why were you staring?" She pecks him real quick just once more, and adds, "This time?" for she had caught him doing this on more than one occasion, each time for a different reason.

He shrugs, his expression painting a rather adorable picture in combination with a stubborn tuft of hair Sharon suddenly notes is sticking out precisely at the top of his head. "I'm just happy," he says simply, watching curiously as she reaches a hand out to try to flatten the strand of hair that had caught her attention. When her eyes drop down to his again, he offers a lopsided smile. " _You_ make me happy."

His sappiness does not amuse or exasperate her this time. In fact, she returns the sentiment in more than equal measure, but, her palm remaining glued to the top of his head, she asks, teasingly, "This wouldn't have anything to do with our annulments, now, would it?"

"Well," his delighted grin is at odds with his tentatively uttered word, "we can finally set a date now."

She retracts her hand from his head and uses it for leverage as she readjusts herself atop his body. Once straddling his thighs, she squeezes his sides excitedly and matches his grin. "We can." Andy's previous marriage had been officially annulled that week and with hers having been annulled the week prior to that, they were now finally allowed to marry in church.

"So," his tone is conversational, and he wiggles his eyebrows at her, his hands landing on her hips, "how does today sound?"

She snorts. While she is fairly certain he would jump at the opportunity to marry her right that instant, she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he will wait for her to plan it out to her heart's content.

"I'm only half-joking," he adds, his fingers momentarily pressing into her hips.

She laughs a little more, but strokes his side lovingly. "I'm aware."

"But," he sighs dramatically, his thumbs starting to caress the slightly bony protrusions on either side of her pelvis, "your sense of occasion has already decided to test my patience to the point of," he pulls a face, "physical pain?"

She smiles, not unkindly. "I'm afraid so."

He groans, as if already in pain, and redirects his gaze to the ceiling to mumble, "I guess you're worth it."

The feigned scepticism has Sharon tuck her toes in beneath his calves and the sheets. Curling them, she purposefully pulls at the hairs of his legs, and snorts when he jerks them up and yelps out an indignant, "Oi!"

Having his full attention again, she raises an eyebrow at him, her threatening repetition of the question, 'Guess?' implied.

"Yeah, guess," he reiterates, then catches her off guard by sitting up, jostling her in the process and joining his hands at her lower back as he pulls her across his lap to kiss her again.

Her lighthearted laugh in response makes him lean back a little to smile dopily at her. The wait will indeed be agonizing, but if it means having her like this each morning for the rest of his days, it will be a very small price to pay.

She smiles back, naturally, and the crinkles that appear in the corners of her eyes draw Andy's fingers to one of her temples so he can stroke his thumb across them. She sighs contently in return, leaning into the touch, and finally says, more seriously, "I promise I'll be walking down that aisle soon."

"I know." He kisses her again. "We just gotta figure out a date that will fit our kids' schedules." Truthfully, that was what would be delaying their wedding far more than Sharon's wishlist regarding what the occasion should look like.

She smiles, her attention again drawn to the protruding tuft of hair at the top of his head. "Exactly," she says as she gently tries to flatten it yet again.

"What are you doing?" he finally gives voice to his earlier curiosity, amused.

She chuckles. "Your hair's a mess." Again, she rubs her palm across his head.

He slips his fingers into her hair. "Your hair is amazing."

She rolls her eyes again, only he doesn't notice, for he is too busy staring at her tresses and enjoying their softness between his fingers. Distractedly, he adds, "This is my very favorite do."

She snorts, dropping her hand to his shoulder, somewhat surprised. "It is?"

"Mhm," he hums, then looks her in the eye, a mix of smugness and pride dancing in his. "Only I get to see it."

She wants to argue that her children saw her before she got dressed and made up for the day plenty, too, but that would be beside his point. She marvels at this shared intimacy of waking up next to each other as much as he does. Five years ago she would have recoiled at the mere thought of having even a hair out of place in his, or any other work acquaintance's, presence, for her appearance has forever been, and still is, one of her first layers of armor. Today, however, she can barely recall a time when he didn't look at her like she was the center of the universe, and in these precious moments where neither donned any of their armor yet, she found he looked at her that way even more. The prospect of being on the receiving end of these gazes for the rest of her mornings makes her positively giddy with excitement.

"Sharon?"

His slightly concerned voice pulls her out of her musings, she must have lapsed into a longer silence as her thoughts got away from her, and she quickly smiles, reassuringly.

When she remains quiet though, Andy releases her hair, letting it flow between his fingers one more time before dropping his hand back to her hip, and prods, "Penny for your thoughts?"

A bit randomly, and only after a long sigh, she responds, "Sometimes I wish we could stay like this forever. Just us," she shrugs, "doing nothing."

His entire face lights up, and he presses his lips to hers for another moment. Sometimes, that is precisely what he wishes for, too. "Well," his grumbling tone contradicts his happy smile, "we could have stayed like this at least this morning," he pauses, raising one eyebrow very pointedly at her, " _buuut_ …"

Sharon grimaces. "We're meeting Provenza and Patrice for breakfast," she finishes his sentence.

He stares at her in a way that says, 'And whose fault is that?'

She bites the inside of her cheek, guiltily. She was the one who had gotten them into this by suggesting it to Patrice, not that she regrets it, she's actually looking forward to it. However, the prospect of lazing about in their bed for a while longer does sound deliciously appealing right now, and part of her wishes she had had the sense to suggest lunch or dinner instead.

"Exactly," Andy nods at her wordless admission, "and now I have to suffer through a morning of watching Provenza pick at whatever healthy food Patrice decides to shove down his throat this time." He ignores her ensuing chuckle, and goes on, growing seemingly more agitated. "And on a Sunday no less, when," he pauses to glare incredulously at her, "even Rusty isn't home!"

She laughs briefly. "You are aware," she shuffles up his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders until she can lock her hands behind his neck, "that when you marry me, he is part of the deal?"

He grunts in exaggeration, his response just as forced as the eye roll that accompanies it. "Don't remind me."

Her eyes narrow, even as her lips remain curved in a smile. "Keep it up," she scratches her nails against his neck warningly, "and you'll be meeting your partner alone."

He tilts his head back in a futile attempt to still her fingers. "But you'll still marry me?" he asks rightfully smugly.

That response catches her by surprise, and it snaps her until then ready for a retort, open mouth shut, and he barks out a laugh in turn.

"I'll make sure to tell Rusty," he adds, his voice shaking.

On an uncharacteristic, slightly frustrated, but fake grunt, she drags her nails across his neck once more, then abruptly gets off his lap and to her feet at his side of the bed. Wordlessly, she rounds the bed and goes for the bathroom with as much grace as she can summon in light of his teasing smugness, but Andy is on his feet just as quickly, catching up with her just as she reaches the middle of the adjoining room.

He snakes his arms around her waist, and gently pulls her back against his chest. He sweeps her hair to the side with the tip of his nose. "You know," his lips brush against her ear, "I'm quite partial to all parts of your deal."

She melts into him, her only purchase her hands squeezing his, then smiles, resting her temple against his stubbled chin. "I do know that." But her heart swells up at his saying it anyway.

He tightens his hold on her for a moment, then kisses her temple before releasing and stepping away from her. "Good."

She turns around, her eyes slightly narrowed, but Andy can tell in mischief rather than suspicion. "You're being rather perfect this morning," she observes, folding her arms and giving him a deliberate once over as if her observation isn't quite done yet either.

He laughs, walking past her toward the sink. "Only this morning?" he asks, a smirk appearing on his face as he notes her turning on her heel to continue watching him.

In the mirror, he sees her eyebrow briefly bounce up and down, and then she hums in teasing confirmation.

"Huh," he reaches for his toothbrush and toothpaste, "I'll have to step up my game then, once I put a ring on that finger."

"No," she disagrees even as she laughs. She uncrosses her arms as she joins him at the sink and eyes him from the side. "I'm rather partial to your imperfections, too."

His barked laugh causes him to produce an oversized dollop of toothpaste on his brush. "Now you're just being plain cheesy."

She promptly dissolves into giggles, failing to hide them in the side of his arm. A merry, "Aaah!" escapes her lips.

"What?" Andy asks, looking at her with a mildly offended expression.

For several moments he is only privy to her shaking shoulders, and when she finally sobers, she props herself up on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. The bright smile on her face prompts him to tickle her nose with his, and then she says, "That's awfully rich coming from you."

He narrows his eyes at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, punctuating his cluelessness with a flick of the hand that is wrapped around his toothbrush, and in the process the bit of toothpaste he had on it slides off and lands in the sink, breaking his concentration and making him scowl at it.

Sharon chuckles at his clumsiness, then pushes off his shoulder to pat his arm condescendingly. "I'm afraid that of the two of us," her other hand wraps around the arm and she momentarily squeezes into his side before patting his arm once more for good measure, "you're the walking cliche."

His private war with his toothpaste instantly forgotten, his eyes snap back to hers, and he squints them again for a moment as well. "Are you complaining?" His tone indicates he is rather sure of and already pleased with the answer she would give him.

She laughs, shaking her head emphatically. "No," she rises on her toes once more and quickly kisses his cheek, "never."

His features relax and a confident, self-satisfied smile spreads over his face. "Thought so," he says, then with exaggerated precision, loads his toothbrush with another, smaller, dollop of toothpaste.

Grinning at his antics, Sharon watches him for a few moments as he finally starts brushing his teeth, then reaches for her own toothbrush.

They get through the rest of their morning bathroom routine with practiced ease and in companionable silence, occasionally bumping into each other not because they were in each other's way, but simply because they liked seeking out the contact. Sharon finally succeeds in besting the odd hair on Andy's head, too, and once they are back in their bedroom, his thoughts return to the next item on their agenda.

Sharon is already dressed and has stepped back into their closet, so as he is pulling his jeans on, he has to raise his voice a little to make sure it reaches her. "Where are we having this breakfast anyway?"

He startles when he straightens and a hand lands on his lower back, sliding down until it slips into his back pocket. A quick glance to the side at the ottoman reveals she has dug out jackets for them. "Oh, there you are," he states the obvious.

She smiles, her hand twitching in his pocket appreciatively. "That neat little place down by the beach you like," she answers. "The one with those delicious sandwiches."

Andy closes the buttons on his pants, then starts sliding his belt on through the loops. "Oh," his tone carries excitement, "even Provenza won't be able to complain about those." They offered a variety of healthy sandwiches Patrice would most likely insist on, but which tasted pretty good even for Provenza's picky palate.

Sharon laughs. "My thoughts precisely."

"Ha!" He spins around on her, her hand slipping out of his pocket in the process and his belt remaining unbuckled as he points a finger at her. "I always knew you couldn't stand his complaining any more than I can!" He sounds positively gleeful.

Sharon doesn't even flinch. Impassively, she crosses her arms and quirks an eyebrow at him. "I can't stand _your_ complaining."

His glee vanishes instantly. "I thought," he sounds mock hurt, and he even clutches the spot just above his heart, "you liked my imperfections."

She finally cracks a smile, and closes what little distance he put between them, reaching for his buckle to close it herself. "I didn't say I liked _all_ of them."

He watches as her hands deftly work on his belt, and mutters, "Technicalities."

"Now _you_ 're complaining?" she asks, tapping his belt in a 'there, done' motion when she is finished fumbling with it.

There was a time when he would have complained. Quite vehemently. Back when she walked in on his crime scenes with her superior, know-it-all attitude, picking at every turn and step he or his team took, pointing out one technicality or another that could cost them their conviction. These days, however, she had turned those technicalities into near weapons in their constant fight against criminals, and each time she did, he grew more attracted to her. In fact, how he was yet to be caught with his head in the clouds when she handed some dirtbag his ass and all kinds of randy scenarios shot through his mind, is beyond him.

"Earth to Andy," Sharon's amused voice pulls him back to the moment, and he notes that she was tugging at his T-shirt to get his attention, too.

So much for not getting caught with his head in the clouds… But he grins anyway. "I'm never complaining ever again." When she smiles, he loops his hands around her middle, and brings his lips to hers.

She takes the opportunity to slip both of her hands into his back pockets, and when they end their kiss, Andy lifts an intrigued eyebrow at her, wiggling beneath her touch, his tone sarcastic. "Looking for something?" One exploratory slip of her hand was not uncommon, this however, was.

She shrugs, unconcerned, and certainly not guilty. "These jeans look good on you." As if to highlight her appreciation, she presses her hands against his behind, and tilts her head up to steal another kiss.

He smiles at the compliment, but a low, curious hum rumbles in his throat. "So is this part of the deal as well?" he asks, seemingly serious. "Being groped in my own home from now on?"

At Sharon's sudden bubble of a laugh, his smile widens into another grin. "Yes," she confirms even as she retracts her hands from his pockets and slides them up his lower back, "it's most definitely part of the deal."

"Okay," Andy can't resist pecking her smile before he starts pretending to think for a moment, even rubbing a finger against his chin in contemplation, "but may I balance this deal out a little?"

He sounds positively mischievous, and in anticipation, Sharon's mouth involuntarily quirks up into a smile. There is a touch of excitement in her voice as she asks, "What do you have in mind?"

His eyebrows bob up and down for a moment, and before she can process what is happening, in answer, his fingers find the topmost closed button of her blouse and flick it open. She would have been impressed by his nimble technique and speed, if not for bursting out laughing again instead.

"You laugh," Andy does not seem amused, "but I think this," he curls a finger into the edge of the camisole the unfastening of the button revealed, and lifts an eyebrow as he allows himself an eager glance down her bosom, "is a fair trade."

Pointedly, even though she continues to smile, she clasps his wrist between her thumb and index finger, and delicately removes his hand. Redoing the button, she hums, disagreeing. "Of course you do."

When she steps away from him, too, he grumbles petulantly, "I seem to be getting the short end of this deal."

She turns around to toss him his jacket she recovers from the ottoman, her lips pursed. "You having second thoughts?" she asks, her concern faked with an added sweetness to her tone.

He slips the jacket on, then reaches her to help her put on her own, the whole time his face remaining purposefully impassive as he delays his answer. A quiet contemplative hum escapes him once the jacket is on her, and then he runs his hands from her shoulders, down her arms before finally slipping them inside the material. There his hands flutter teasingly against her sides. "No," he says resolutely. "As long as I'm allowed to do this," he adds, his thumbs brushing against the underside of her bra.

Her lips curl into half a smile. "Turnabout is fair play and all that?" she asks, taking half a step forward, already welcoming his touch.

He smirks. "Yup."

She tugs on the lapels of his jacket, and lifts herself up on her toes, her lips curling the rest of the way into a full blown grin. "Then yes," she kisses him soundly on the mouth, "you have my permission."

Permission per se, is not really needed at this point in their relationship, not that they ceased to talk and ask and discuss things. But when a rare boundary is drawn between them, Andy has learned to recognize it in the tension that built up in her shoulders if she was tired, or in the fractional, but persistent crease on her brow if she was stressed, or in the unfocused gazes she sometimes fell prey to if something of weight lingered on her mind, or in a combination of the three if she was having a particularly challenging day. Words are simply not always needed anymore. These and many more signs he had spent years cataloguing, and while he was fairly confident that very little mystery remained between them in that regard, that wasn't to say that the thrill of figuring her out had dissipated. Now it simply morphed into anticipating her laughs at his jokes or antics, even going as far as settling on what type of joke would make her do what; smile, grin, chuckle, giggle, or outright snort. Now the thrill lay in knowing what kind of touch would help her relax after a long day, knowing what kind of moan or hum each touch would elicit, too. Each time he got it right, he would get almost childishly excited, and the rare times he wouldn't, he'd feel an almost painful pull to backtrack and try again.

Perhaps there was only one type of permission he had needed from her, and he had gotten it the day she agreed to going out with him on a proper date. Since then, he was allowed to investigate her more overtly, there were fewer trials and errors, and where the thrill of a challenge therefore slightly subsided, a new one blossomed when it became apparent that she was on an investigative path of her own.

That probably, above all else would never cease to amaze him—he had piqued her curiosity, and she had even deemed him worthy of her everlasting attention by agreeing to marry him. These facts forever filled him with a type of warmth that spread throughout his entire being, burning into him a type of tingling sensation that sometimes choked him up, nearly brought him either to tears or his knees. Hell, it was a good thing she did not rescind her permission even in jest, because he isn't sure he is able to keep his grubby little paws off of her at this point. He would have most likely wrapped himself around her, like he does just then, anyway, and pressed her tightly against his body with no intention of ever letting go.

When he does, however, loosen his hold on her, because common sense fights its way through the fog of his besotted musings and he remembers his partner would be very annoyed with him if they were late, he wants to give voice to some of the thoughts swirling around his head, but he can't find words worthy of the sentiment.

Sharon raises an expectant eyebrow at him, a bit amused by his prolonged silence, but when the gist of his thoughts become apparent in the outright revering expression on his face, she suddenly blushes.

It is possibly the one thing she will never get used to, and that she will definitely never take for granted—the absolutely genuine love for her that he sometimes, at utterly random moments like these, gave off in waves forceful enough to topple her over.

She had tried putting into words once exactly how his overwhelming intensity made her feel, but she found the words lacking, and it didn't help that he was under the impression that she could get just as intense. He generally also disagreed that he was intense at all, but she sees his passion at every corner, be it when it runs wild, angry and protective while they are at work, be it when it makes her weak in the knees while they are completely alone like just now, or when it fuels his sense of humor in the company of family and friends. Admittedly, it is also the kind of passion that often gets him into trouble, but it burns so hot, that as overpowering as it sometimes feels, it also draws her to him like a moth to a flame, only it doesn't burn her, but continually provides her with an all-encompassing warmth she is sure she will never get enough of.

With a soft brush of her hand against his side, and a tone to match, she pulls them both out of their reverie. "We'd better get going."

Andy grunts, dropping his forehead to hers. "Please remind me why we're doing this again?"

She digs her fingers into his side in light admonishment, but laughs his question off. "Come on," she grabs his hand and starts pulling him out of the bedroom, "you know I'm looking forward to picking Patrice's brain about our wedding, and your partner will bite your head off if we're late."

Even as he follows without resistance, he grumbles, "Have you noticed how it's always my head on a spike with him, even if it's your fault?"

She lets go of his hand to pick up her flats that are on the floor next to their front door. "He simply holds me in higher esteem than you," she answers matter-of-factly, but Andy sees the teasing glint in her eyes, and does not appreciate it one bit.

"You mean," he pockets his keys and phone, but gives her a helpful hand for balance as she puts on her footwear, even though he still sounds very much disgruntled, "he's terrified of you so he takes it out on me?"

She straightens on a laugh, and Andy moves to put on his own shoes, missing the smart smile on her face. "It's not my fault you're a pushover."

He actually gasps in feigned shock. "I'm not a pushover," he argues, straightening as well, and even though his mouth remains open, there are no further arguments forthcoming.

"No," she suddenly agrees, moving in closer with an expression that intimidates rather than reassures, "you're just a big softy." To punctuate her words, she pats the coincidentally just as soft, small pouch around his middle, and grins.

He sucks his stomach in right away, and when she snorts, glares at her. He rubs his foot against the floor, making sure his shoe sits right, then suddenly flings the front door wide open, walking through it instead of, as usually, letting her go first. He mutters, in good nature though, "Definitely getting the short end of this deal here."

She laughs again, grabbing her purse before following. She pauses only to close and lock the door behind her, while he continues to stew in apparent scorn, and even pushes onto the elevator ahead of her. It renews her laughter, but also allows her a moment to look him over once again. If the jeans do not look delectable enough on him, his donned leather jacket certainly does. She bites her bottom lip when she joins him and catches a whiff of his scent as well, then suppresses another laugh when he turns to jab a finger into one of the buttons on the panel.

There is really only a single thought on her mind though, and it causes her to miss the sly smirk on Andy's face as he checks her out from the corner of his eye as well.

The show he was putting on instantly forgotten at the sight of her, he reaches for her hand, and returns her responding smile with one of his own.

He, too, can think of only one thing.

This is the best deal he's made in years.

THE END

* * *

While this is a story for my trusted beta, I won't complain about hearing what the rest of you thought. Feel free to drop a word or two in the reviews! :)


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